"Helga's Garden" for liliths_requiem
Title: Helga’s Garden
Gift for: liliths_requiem
Author/Artist: venturous1
Characters/Pairing: Helga/Godric, Helga/OC, Godric/OC, Rowena/Salazar, other OCs
Rating: PG
Word count: 4400
Warnings: infidelity, character death
Genres: gen
Author's/Artist's Notes: Many thanks to L who gave me much needed editing and encouragement
Summary: Helga Hufflepuff has lived a long, full life.
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September 15, 1110
Nap In the Garden
The drone of crickets filled the air and Helga’ head nodded over her lap full of flower heads. Haegwin, noticing her doze, rubbed his thick black fur against her leg. She smiled at him and gathered the folds of her skirt in her gnarled hands, to keep the seeds from spilling on the ground.
“ Ach, me auld ven. Whar wud ah be widout theh, Haegwin?” She scratched the badger behind his ears and he pressed into her touch, lifting his wide front paws off the ground.
Helga gazed out across the field in front of her herb garden and watched the late summer grasses ripple, saw the heat-haze blur the shape of the grazing cows. She inhaled deeply the sweet hay scent and luxuriated in the fleeting warmth of late summer sun.
She resumed her sorting as her badger settled down beside her, contented. As she broke up the flower heads and separated the seeds into one pouch, the petals in another. She had done this job since she was a wee girl, on her grandmother’s herb farm. Helga remembered her Gram showing her how to catch the tiny seeds from the thistle, and just when to take the harvest the yarrow for greatest potency, how to ask the bees to leave nicely, preventing disagreements. As her fingers repeated the winnowing gesture her mind wandered back to that tiny croft on the Isle of Hoy. Everything that grew was used for something, and many plants had multiple uses. The simple magic of coaxing the green things into bloom had always thrilled her. She saw the blue trumpets of the morning glory that climbed over the stony walls, near the nodding bells of the foxglove, the exuberant day lilies, the soft umbels of yarrow and sturdy coneflowers.
Finishing up, she began to tie the pouches closed with some difficulty. Her hands were not cooperating today, so she placed the pouches carefully and summoned her wand, waved it whispering ‘enlacio’ and the pouches were neatly and securely tied with flaxen cord. ‘Inscriptio’ and they were labeled clearly as well.
Helga levitated the bundles into her basket and gathered her skirts in preparation for standing. “Accio staff! “She summoned her walking stick from the grass and pulled earth energy up into her limbs. Her eyes closed with the effort, pushing her staff into the earth she rose, trembling, to her feet. Pain flared through her knees and hips, and she drew harder on the earth, mixing the heat of lava with the blaze of arthritic pain until they flowed together in a warm glow.
She straightened, breathed deeply and put on her hat, standing tall. “That’s better now. Come along, Haegwin, Sun’s headed down earlier these days, and it’s nearly time for tea. Perhaps we’ll have company today.”
Helga’s home was up the hill from the meadow and as she hiked up the path she admired the grand profile Hogwarts rising in the now rosy light of dusk. Soon the students would return for another year. More came each year, especially this one, the 150th enrolled class. Soon the halls would be alight with laughter and learning. For the past 169 years she’d watched her school grow from just a dream, to a struggling project, then slowly mature into a thriving institution. They would have over seventy pupils with the new incoming class. Every wizarding family in the island kingdoms aspired to send their young witches and wizards here.
She reached the door of her stone house, paused for breath and was greeted by a sharp nip from the owl that waited there. “You feathered fiend! Who could this be from?” The owl eyed her disdainfully as she offered it a beechnut from her pocket. ““Begrudging wee beastie, aint you? In with you, then, and get a bit of corn.”
The crofthouse was long and low, with bags and bundles hanging from the beams, shelves of jars filled with fruits and beans. There was a time when Helga needed to crouch low in order to come in the door, but no longer. Her years had drawn her closer to the earth. She took her time, hanging up her bag and removing each bundle from inside. Each one was carefully levitated and hung in its proper place. The owl chirruped impatiently.
“There now, what are we on about? Oh aye, you need your treat before you’ll give me my message.” She moved slowly over the worn stone floor and grabbed a handful of kernels from a jar. spreading the gold on the table. The owl gobbled at the grains and extended its leg to her.” She grabbed the tiny scroll and enlarged it with a wandless spell. “Ach, I canna see in this light. Come outside with me.” Helga peered at the scroll in the fading light. When she made out the signature she burst out with joy: “Geoffrey is coming! I canna wait to see his ruddy head again.”
A gruff voice replied, “You won’t need to wait for long, Mum. And my head’s nowt been red for many ayear. “
She whirled about, and there he was, looking so like his father that tears filled her eyes. She reached up to touch his face, as he bent to kiss her. She stroked his hair and pressed her face into his bushy beard.
They sat around her fireside table late into the night laughing and drinking her best gooseberry wine. Realizing it was late, he helped her to bed and then bedded down on the hay bales wrapped in his tartan.
Now, witches and wizards had many enviable advantages over Muggles. They lightened their labour with spells and charms, traveled by apparition, and often they were very long-lived. Unless, of course, their lives were cut short by magical accidents or war. Unfortunately, neither was uncommon.
For those who avoided conflict and ill fortune, a lifespan of over 150 years was not unheard of. Geoff’s wife Athena had visited her great grandfather Antares Black and he had seen 170 winters. But Geoff’s own father had died relatively young, only 105, in a tragic accident with a dragon. Godric Gryffindor’s hair never had a chance to turn gray. And he never met the man his youngest son grew to be.
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Geoffrey Hufflepuff ducked his head as he came through the rounded alehouse door. Duncan Gryffindor jumped up and greeted him with a hearty handshake. “Have a pint of Hogsmeade’s finest, Uncle!” He floated a foamy mug over with a wave of his wand.
“You look well, Duncan. Are you ready for the hoard of brats to descend upon you?” Geoff smiled and lifted his ale to toast his great grand nephew, Headmaster of Hogwarts.
“Of course! This is a banner year, Geoffrey. How I wish your father was still here to see it.”
Geoff hid his expression grateful for his full beard. “I’m worried about Helga.”
“Well, she’s nigh on 200 years old now. She’ll need her rest soon enough. Good thing that lovely great granddaughter of hers is running the horticulture program. Not only that, but Sophia is about to birth the next generation as well! Have you seen the belly on that girl?” Duncan beamed. He loved anything that would increase enrollment at his school.
“I am proud of what Sophia has done, building upon Helga’s work, so now Helga can do as much as she’s able. Mum even trusts that her gardens and greenhouse are properly tended! But she sleeps so much now, and sometimes seems to be talking to folk who aren’t there.” Geoffrey was aware that he did a bit of this himself. After all, he was only 75 years younger than his mother.
Duncan teased him. “Aren’t you doing’ the same, old man? I do myself from time to time.”
“Duncan, if you’d help me find a way to get her to the healer up at the school I’d be so grateful.”
“What? And risk having a Fanged Geranium sent to my office?” Duncan patted Geoff’s hand. “Of course I will, Uncle. After we get everyone settled we’ll find a pretense to get her up to the castle and have Healer Gunhilda at the ready.”
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September 23, 1110
The Welcoming Feast
“Welcome to all students, faculty and guests! Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
As your Headmaster, I, Duncan Gryffindor, ask that you particularly welcome our 150th graduating class of competent witches and wizards!
While he basked in the applause, Duncan drank in the splendid scene. Floating candles and merry fires illuminated the new larger hall in a golden light. Four long tables were lined with excited faces and piled with the fruits of a rich growing season. Beside him his colleagues sat in their finest dress robes. Never had he felt so proud.
“Our incoming class is the largest group we have ever had, and I thank you and all of your families for making it possible for us to give you the finest education available to wizard kind. I know all of you firsties will grow into fine witches and wizards in your time at Hogwarts.”
“In honor of this banner year we are instituting a new organization. We will no longer divide you by class, but by a new House system, that will give you your own home and family at Hogwarts. House leaders, please rise!”
The four professors stood, one at the end of each of the tables, clad in robes of sapphire blue, blazing red, oceanic green and sunflower yellow.
“In a moment you will discover your new Hogwarts House, your home while you are here. But first, a bit of your history. In 963 my Grandfather Godric Gryffindor and his colleagues Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin opened this school. There were only 6 students and one classroom that year, but we have never stopped growing. And now each House will be named for one of our Founders.
I know my grandfather would be so proud of all of you. How I wish he were here to see this day. Sadly he cannot be here today, nor can the Founders Ravenclaw or Slytherin. But I can introduce to you a most remarkable witch, Madam Helga Hufflepuff, senior professor of Magical Horticulture and Founder of Hogwarts.”
The applause was like an ocean of sound as Helga stood somewhat unsteadily at the head table, her great-great-grand daughter Sophia Sprout holding her arm. She looked out over the sea of young faces, all aglow with youthful hope and sighed, leaning against Sophia a bit more. Raising one gnarled hand and waving gently, she smiled from the depths of her heart. She loved each and every student, yet was so very glad that she did not have to teach this year. She settled back in her chair with a sigh. Duncan handed her a mug of mead. She sipped from it politely then set it down. Soon her head was nodding to her chest.
Duncan’s speech must have gone on a bit, for loud cheers startled Helga awake. Duncan introduced his great granddaughter Gwendolyn Wildsmith who presented the “Sorting Hat.” Sophia whispered to the headmaster that she should get Helga home. Helga was grateful that Duncan dropped the Apparation ban so they could make their departure swiftly.
Once home, Sophia helped her into bed and made sure she had her cup of warm chamomile tea, and gently kissed her brow.
“Sweet dreams, dear lady.”
Dreams of Future Past
Helga pretended to doze as she listened to Sophia set out supper for the badger and tidy up. There was a soft click as she quietly latched the door, and the click of her boot heels on the slates of the walk. Helga knew she would only sleep a little while, so she was in no hurry to get there. As she lay in the dark she recalled how cold and uncomfortable life was in the beginning. The four of them lived in one crowded croft while they began the backbreaking work of digging and hauling stone, laying the foundations of the first classroom.
They had been so filled with commitment and energy for their dream, and they worked so well together. Her love of her partners fueled those heady days: Rowena’s sparking laugh, Salazar’s sly and cutting wit, and fiery Godric.
She remembered awakening each day filled with joy and threw herself into her work, whether it was planning or hauling stone. In those early days they usually fell into bed exhausted, not minding the hard pallets on the cold stone floor. Ah, youth, and warming charms! she mused, remembering the warm embrace of Godric, sweet Godric. One often was blessed with just what was needed to survive. She nestled deeper in her feather bed.
From the beginning she believed it was her fate to be Godric’s mate and raise a brood of red-haired bairns. She had no doubt he loved her, just as she saw the whip-smart Rowena and Salazar as a kindred pair. Helga and Godric’s hearts matched each other, passionate and practical, beat for beat. So it didn’t worry her when the school opened and they weren’t yet married. There was plenty of time. He was her destiny, and she was his.
But viewed from this day, she wondered how they ever endured that first winter: six children, no dormitories and an unfinished hall. Half the winter they huddled in around the fire, the tiny house packed with bodies (including the sheep) in order to keep themselves warm enough to think.
But endure they did, and stubbornly grew, completing more of the school each summer and welcoming a few more students each September. By the time those first six students were preparing for their Leaving Feast they had two complete classrooms, a dining hall that functioned as an auditorium, dormitories for witches and wizards, and a proper kitchen. The road up from the lake was graded smooth and the foundation for 2 more classrooms, another larger hall and a tall tower were laid.
In that year, Godric announced his troth to Fiona Peverell, star of that first graduating class. She was a bright tawny-haired lass who came to study that very first year, and fell in love with her professor. They were to marry as soon as the school year was done.
When this news reached Helga she went promptly to Godric and asked him to stop this cruel joke on the innocent Fiona. But he looked at her with such sickening pity as he took her hands she realized this was no joke. As she stared into those hazel eyes she knew so well, she felt her insides turn to water. Yanking her hands from his, she fled to the hallway and flung open a window, hung over the sill and spilled out her guts.
Rowena found her there and took her home. “There, my darling. I’m here. you come along to bed now, my sweet.” She held her friend as she wept, listened while she cursed, cleaned up after she threw things. Rowena nursed Helga through a fever that lasted five days, and fiercely forbid anyone from entering Helga’s croft.
Fiona Peverell Gryffindor promptly produced a son and two daughters, all ginger haired and hearty, and Godric was never happier.
Helga opened her eyes when the badger climbed up onto her bed, startling her from her memories. “You are a loyal companion, Haegwin, you and all your ken before you.” She smiled and stroked the badger’s thick fur. He pressed into her hand and made a little growl, then snuggled deeper in the down quilt.
Helga smiled kindly at her younger self, so certain that her life was ruined. Having lived through another 149 years brimful with joys and losses, she wished she could hug the lass and tell her she’d be just fine. But for young Helga, her world felt like a smoking ruin.
After Godric’s wedding Helga recovered her composure and returned to work, but deep within, her heart still burned for him. Nevertheless she soon married Eric Greengrass, a kindly farmer.
That was the year young Helena Ravenclaw disappeared. The entire school was in an uproar, searching for her for weeks, then grimly searching for her body. There was no evidence to explain her disappearance. Months dragged on and Rowena grew thin and pale, worn from not sleeping. Then one day an owl arrived from Albania, a message from Helena. “I’ve come here to be free of the gloom” that she said defined her life at Hogwarts. Rowena sent the loyal Baron Malaterra to bring her back, which as we know came to a disastrous end.
When word came back of Helena’s murder Salazar flew into a rage, lashed out at all of his colleagues and stormed off, never to be heard from again. Though he never acknowledged her as his daughter, his drastic behavior and Rowena’s complete heartbreak were confirmation enough.
Helga cared for her dear friend through her terrible grief. How Rowena could be feeling she only guessed from her own aching heart, for Helena had been everyone’s sweet child in those early years. Why didn’t Salazar marry her as soon as she caught with child? It was clear to Helga that they were deeply in love. But of course, Helga had been so sure how her life would go, so there you are. You may plan all you like, but destiny has it’s own ideas.
Helga nursed Rowena through her final illness, treating her with herbs for peace and comfort. When Rowena’s eyes closed for the last time, Helga tenderly smoothed her hair and sang the elemental blessings for her friend.
Sometimes Helga though she saw Helena in the castle. But she told no one, knowing it would add to the list of reasons they all treated her as a daft old witch.
And tonight, over a century later, she longed to see Rowena, to hear her laugh in that sparkling way she had. Helga she still talked to her: “Ach, my darling. I miss you every day. You should see our splendid school, darling. We’ve done it, really made something that will last a thousand summers and enrich the wizarding world. How I wish you could see what you and I began!”
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When Helga’s youngest, Margaret, went to Hogwarts, she resumed teaching full time. She and Godric would spend long evenings together at the school, and it wasn’t long before they fell into a passionate affair. They would find a quiet classroom or climb the Gryffindor tower and he would lay down his cloak and tartan to make a soft place for their lovemaking.
Much to their surprise, for Helga had 75 years, she became pregnant with Geoffrey. Gryffindor was completely gracious and honorable; his three children were all grown, and Fiona kept her chin up and was kind to Helga. She’d known for years that Helga was in love with, and was loved by, her husband. Helga insisted her child have her name.
Geoffrey Hufflepuff may have favoured his father in appearance, but in the magnitude of his heart and sweetness of his temper he was his mother’s child. Young Geoff grew up at Hogwarts, but was restless in the classroom, and so after his 5th year he went forth from the valley to find his way. His mother felt the pain of his leaving more sharply than any of her children before. How she wished he could be her sweet boy forever, curled in her warm hug, helping in the garden, laughing and running on the mountain. But birds must leave the nest and fly, and soar he did.
In Inverness he became a respected farrier and wheelwright, and by his 30th year was elected to apprentice with the Steel Shapers Guild at Sæbø. When he returned he was a master armorer, making fine vessels, cutlery, and weapons rivaling the finest goblin-made goods. He eventually partnered with the Grogthorn the goblin sword master, and it was through that partnership that Geoff began to see himself as an artist, and began work on what would become his masterpiece.
August 3, 1033
Homecoming
Geoff looked up from his anvil one afternoon and watched a dark owl gliding in. He was surprised when the owl sought him, and furrowed his brow as he undid the scroll. As he read it all colour drained from his face, he dropped it in the dust and ran, tearing off his leather apron. “Tell Grogthorn I won’t be back for a fortnight!” he yelled at a co-worker.
As Geoff stumbled out of Appartition to see a great blaze in the school courtyard, he knew he was too late. Gryffindor the elder had been badly injured defending the school from a wild dragon. The flames of his pyre reached high into the night sky, sparks flying, silhouetting the crowd against the glowing towers of the school. Geoff ran into the crowd as if to throw himself on the fire, shouting, “No, no! Father, no!” and strong arms seized him and held him back. He slumped to the ground, head buried in Helga’s robes, and wept. Then his mother gently lifted him up from the floor handing him a linen to dry his eyes.
“There, my darling, come on with me now. Oh, my sweet boy!” She was overwhelmed with emotion as he embraced her and sobbed into her shoulder. When he calmed, she took his hand and led him from the hall, down the road and home to her small stone house. She dosed him with a potion and tucked him into her bed, then spent the night stirring a cauldron of root broth, adding goodness from the garden and magic for health and healing.
By dawn the hearth was cool and Helga asleep in her fireside chair, badger curled at her feet. Geoff awakened to the peace and comfort of home, and rubbing his swollen eyes, came to find her there. He looked down at his mother, so precious, so kind, and felt pangs of regret about being the difficult boy, and felt bad about leaving home. And that’s when his tears rose again, for there was no chance of ever earning his father’s love, not now.
He set to making tea as quietly as he could, but of course she awoke, telling him not to fuss, she would make him breakfast. “No Mum, I will make it for thee. Sit, rest by the fire, for your heart must be as heavy as mine.”
She remembered watching him that morning, a vivid picture of her redheaded son pouring the kettle, and then cracking the eggs into the hot pan. Despite the occasion for his return, this was one of her favorite memories, and she had no need of a Pensieve to replay it as often as she liked.
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Helga was thrilled that Geoffrey soon decided to build a forge and metalworks at Hogsmeade. Soon he returned to London to wrap up his business there. He brought his young wife, Hannah, back with him and before long their young son Eric was taking his first steps in the garden, fistfuls of grass in his chubby hands.
She and Geoff were watching him one day, bees humming, the willow fronds swaying in the warm air. “He’s a picture of my wee brother, I tell you” She smiled at her tall son, squinting in the bright light. She wished her brother Harald could see this boy.
“I have something for you, mother.”
Geoff went up to the house and Helga kept her eyes on the small boy who was now studying a butterfly perched on a blossom. When it flitted off, he grabbed for it and tipped headlong into the grass, and began to wail. Helga scooped him up and kissed his blond head, rocking his stout little body, wracked with sobs.
“Shush now, my little man. Cry yourself through then weep no more, my little butterfly. The air creatures shall always dance on the breeze. You are a child of Earth, I can feel it. You will love the earth and growing things. You have Fire in you, too, the fire we need to keep to our hearts’ true course.”
Geoff was watching her from the pathway, enchanted with his mother’s voice and son’s cherubic face, rapt with attention. Finally he approached them. The boy squealed with delight and waved his limbs. “I’ll take him, Mum. Here, this is for you.” He handed her a long parcel, wrapped in red tartan.
Eric enjoyed the new view from Da’s shoulder, and happily burbled about all the colourful things he saw. No one could understand his speech yet, but nonetheless he had a great deal to say. Geoff stood quietly and watched his mother slowly unwind the wrap. When she revealed the sword she breathed out a gasp of wonder.
Helga was looking at the most beautiful sword she had ever seen: long, sleek, gleaming with mirror like polished steel, it had intricate interwoven patterns in the darkened grip design, and a huge cabochon ruby on each side of the pommel. She studied it for some time before she spoke.
“This was for your father.” Her voice was soft, eyes never leaving the sword. Her finger traced the name of her great love inscribed in runic script on the long fine blade.
“It’s yours, mother. I want you to have it.” His words were carefully spoken, almost hiding the hitch in his breath.
She considered a protest, but dismissed its usefulness. She leaned against his tall frame and just for a moment felt a flare of Godric’s presence beside her. Stubborn man. What a fool he was to leave them all so suddenly.
She carried the sword inside and lifted it onto the mantle above the hearth. “I will treasure it, my son.”
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An owl calling nearby woke Helga a bit later. She felt peaceful, and a bit weightless, hovering in the predawn light.
Soon Duncan would receive her package and its instructions. She had debated for a long while about handing the sword down to Eric’s son, but in the end concluded it should stay with Godric’s family name. Duncan’s new Gryffindor House was an even better solution. That was all finished now. Everything was complete.
As the sun awakened her garden on that late September morn, Helga closed her eyes.
Gift for: liliths_requiem
Author/Artist: venturous1
Characters/Pairing: Helga/Godric, Helga/OC, Godric/OC, Rowena/Salazar, other OCs
Rating: PG
Word count: 4400
Warnings: infidelity, character death
Genres: gen
Author's/Artist's Notes: Many thanks to L who gave me much needed editing and encouragement
Summary: Helga Hufflepuff has lived a long, full life.
===================
September 15, 1110
Nap In the Garden
The drone of crickets filled the air and Helga’ head nodded over her lap full of flower heads. Haegwin, noticing her doze, rubbed his thick black fur against her leg. She smiled at him and gathered the folds of her skirt in her gnarled hands, to keep the seeds from spilling on the ground.
“ Ach, me auld ven. Whar wud ah be widout theh, Haegwin?” She scratched the badger behind his ears and he pressed into her touch, lifting his wide front paws off the ground.
Helga gazed out across the field in front of her herb garden and watched the late summer grasses ripple, saw the heat-haze blur the shape of the grazing cows. She inhaled deeply the sweet hay scent and luxuriated in the fleeting warmth of late summer sun.
She resumed her sorting as her badger settled down beside her, contented. As she broke up the flower heads and separated the seeds into one pouch, the petals in another. She had done this job since she was a wee girl, on her grandmother’s herb farm. Helga remembered her Gram showing her how to catch the tiny seeds from the thistle, and just when to take the harvest the yarrow for greatest potency, how to ask the bees to leave nicely, preventing disagreements. As her fingers repeated the winnowing gesture her mind wandered back to that tiny croft on the Isle of Hoy. Everything that grew was used for something, and many plants had multiple uses. The simple magic of coaxing the green things into bloom had always thrilled her. She saw the blue trumpets of the morning glory that climbed over the stony walls, near the nodding bells of the foxglove, the exuberant day lilies, the soft umbels of yarrow and sturdy coneflowers.
Finishing up, she began to tie the pouches closed with some difficulty. Her hands were not cooperating today, so she placed the pouches carefully and summoned her wand, waved it whispering ‘enlacio’ and the pouches were neatly and securely tied with flaxen cord. ‘Inscriptio’ and they were labeled clearly as well.
Helga levitated the bundles into her basket and gathered her skirts in preparation for standing. “Accio staff! “She summoned her walking stick from the grass and pulled earth energy up into her limbs. Her eyes closed with the effort, pushing her staff into the earth she rose, trembling, to her feet. Pain flared through her knees and hips, and she drew harder on the earth, mixing the heat of lava with the blaze of arthritic pain until they flowed together in a warm glow.
She straightened, breathed deeply and put on her hat, standing tall. “That’s better now. Come along, Haegwin, Sun’s headed down earlier these days, and it’s nearly time for tea. Perhaps we’ll have company today.”
Helga’s home was up the hill from the meadow and as she hiked up the path she admired the grand profile Hogwarts rising in the now rosy light of dusk. Soon the students would return for another year. More came each year, especially this one, the 150th enrolled class. Soon the halls would be alight with laughter and learning. For the past 169 years she’d watched her school grow from just a dream, to a struggling project, then slowly mature into a thriving institution. They would have over seventy pupils with the new incoming class. Every wizarding family in the island kingdoms aspired to send their young witches and wizards here.
She reached the door of her stone house, paused for breath and was greeted by a sharp nip from the owl that waited there. “You feathered fiend! Who could this be from?” The owl eyed her disdainfully as she offered it a beechnut from her pocket. ““Begrudging wee beastie, aint you? In with you, then, and get a bit of corn.”
The crofthouse was long and low, with bags and bundles hanging from the beams, shelves of jars filled with fruits and beans. There was a time when Helga needed to crouch low in order to come in the door, but no longer. Her years had drawn her closer to the earth. She took her time, hanging up her bag and removing each bundle from inside. Each one was carefully levitated and hung in its proper place. The owl chirruped impatiently.
“There now, what are we on about? Oh aye, you need your treat before you’ll give me my message.” She moved slowly over the worn stone floor and grabbed a handful of kernels from a jar. spreading the gold on the table. The owl gobbled at the grains and extended its leg to her.” She grabbed the tiny scroll and enlarged it with a wandless spell. “Ach, I canna see in this light. Come outside with me.” Helga peered at the scroll in the fading light. When she made out the signature she burst out with joy: “Geoffrey is coming! I canna wait to see his ruddy head again.”
A gruff voice replied, “You won’t need to wait for long, Mum. And my head’s nowt been red for many ayear. “
She whirled about, and there he was, looking so like his father that tears filled her eyes. She reached up to touch his face, as he bent to kiss her. She stroked his hair and pressed her face into his bushy beard.
They sat around her fireside table late into the night laughing and drinking her best gooseberry wine. Realizing it was late, he helped her to bed and then bedded down on the hay bales wrapped in his tartan.
Now, witches and wizards had many enviable advantages over Muggles. They lightened their labour with spells and charms, traveled by apparition, and often they were very long-lived. Unless, of course, their lives were cut short by magical accidents or war. Unfortunately, neither was uncommon.
For those who avoided conflict and ill fortune, a lifespan of over 150 years was not unheard of. Geoff’s wife Athena had visited her great grandfather Antares Black and he had seen 170 winters. But Geoff’s own father had died relatively young, only 105, in a tragic accident with a dragon. Godric Gryffindor’s hair never had a chance to turn gray. And he never met the man his youngest son grew to be.
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Geoffrey Hufflepuff ducked his head as he came through the rounded alehouse door. Duncan Gryffindor jumped up and greeted him with a hearty handshake. “Have a pint of Hogsmeade’s finest, Uncle!” He floated a foamy mug over with a wave of his wand.
“You look well, Duncan. Are you ready for the hoard of brats to descend upon you?” Geoff smiled and lifted his ale to toast his great grand nephew, Headmaster of Hogwarts.
“Of course! This is a banner year, Geoffrey. How I wish your father was still here to see it.”
Geoff hid his expression grateful for his full beard. “I’m worried about Helga.”
“Well, she’s nigh on 200 years old now. She’ll need her rest soon enough. Good thing that lovely great granddaughter of hers is running the horticulture program. Not only that, but Sophia is about to birth the next generation as well! Have you seen the belly on that girl?” Duncan beamed. He loved anything that would increase enrollment at his school.
“I am proud of what Sophia has done, building upon Helga’s work, so now Helga can do as much as she’s able. Mum even trusts that her gardens and greenhouse are properly tended! But she sleeps so much now, and sometimes seems to be talking to folk who aren’t there.” Geoffrey was aware that he did a bit of this himself. After all, he was only 75 years younger than his mother.
Duncan teased him. “Aren’t you doing’ the same, old man? I do myself from time to time.”
“Duncan, if you’d help me find a way to get her to the healer up at the school I’d be so grateful.”
“What? And risk having a Fanged Geranium sent to my office?” Duncan patted Geoff’s hand. “Of course I will, Uncle. After we get everyone settled we’ll find a pretense to get her up to the castle and have Healer Gunhilda at the ready.”
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September 23, 1110
The Welcoming Feast
“Welcome to all students, faculty and guests! Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
As your Headmaster, I, Duncan Gryffindor, ask that you particularly welcome our 150th graduating class of competent witches and wizards!
While he basked in the applause, Duncan drank in the splendid scene. Floating candles and merry fires illuminated the new larger hall in a golden light. Four long tables were lined with excited faces and piled with the fruits of a rich growing season. Beside him his colleagues sat in their finest dress robes. Never had he felt so proud.
“Our incoming class is the largest group we have ever had, and I thank you and all of your families for making it possible for us to give you the finest education available to wizard kind. I know all of you firsties will grow into fine witches and wizards in your time at Hogwarts.”
“In honor of this banner year we are instituting a new organization. We will no longer divide you by class, but by a new House system, that will give you your own home and family at Hogwarts. House leaders, please rise!”
The four professors stood, one at the end of each of the tables, clad in robes of sapphire blue, blazing red, oceanic green and sunflower yellow.
“In a moment you will discover your new Hogwarts House, your home while you are here. But first, a bit of your history. In 963 my Grandfather Godric Gryffindor and his colleagues Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin opened this school. There were only 6 students and one classroom that year, but we have never stopped growing. And now each House will be named for one of our Founders.
I know my grandfather would be so proud of all of you. How I wish he were here to see this day. Sadly he cannot be here today, nor can the Founders Ravenclaw or Slytherin. But I can introduce to you a most remarkable witch, Madam Helga Hufflepuff, senior professor of Magical Horticulture and Founder of Hogwarts.”
The applause was like an ocean of sound as Helga stood somewhat unsteadily at the head table, her great-great-grand daughter Sophia Sprout holding her arm. She looked out over the sea of young faces, all aglow with youthful hope and sighed, leaning against Sophia a bit more. Raising one gnarled hand and waving gently, she smiled from the depths of her heart. She loved each and every student, yet was so very glad that she did not have to teach this year. She settled back in her chair with a sigh. Duncan handed her a mug of mead. She sipped from it politely then set it down. Soon her head was nodding to her chest.
Duncan’s speech must have gone on a bit, for loud cheers startled Helga awake. Duncan introduced his great granddaughter Gwendolyn Wildsmith who presented the “Sorting Hat.” Sophia whispered to the headmaster that she should get Helga home. Helga was grateful that Duncan dropped the Apparation ban so they could make their departure swiftly.
Once home, Sophia helped her into bed and made sure she had her cup of warm chamomile tea, and gently kissed her brow.
“Sweet dreams, dear lady.”
Dreams of Future Past
Helga pretended to doze as she listened to Sophia set out supper for the badger and tidy up. There was a soft click as she quietly latched the door, and the click of her boot heels on the slates of the walk. Helga knew she would only sleep a little while, so she was in no hurry to get there. As she lay in the dark she recalled how cold and uncomfortable life was in the beginning. The four of them lived in one crowded croft while they began the backbreaking work of digging and hauling stone, laying the foundations of the first classroom.
They had been so filled with commitment and energy for their dream, and they worked so well together. Her love of her partners fueled those heady days: Rowena’s sparking laugh, Salazar’s sly and cutting wit, and fiery Godric.
She remembered awakening each day filled with joy and threw herself into her work, whether it was planning or hauling stone. In those early days they usually fell into bed exhausted, not minding the hard pallets on the cold stone floor. Ah, youth, and warming charms! she mused, remembering the warm embrace of Godric, sweet Godric. One often was blessed with just what was needed to survive. She nestled deeper in her feather bed.
From the beginning she believed it was her fate to be Godric’s mate and raise a brood of red-haired bairns. She had no doubt he loved her, just as she saw the whip-smart Rowena and Salazar as a kindred pair. Helga and Godric’s hearts matched each other, passionate and practical, beat for beat. So it didn’t worry her when the school opened and they weren’t yet married. There was plenty of time. He was her destiny, and she was his.
But viewed from this day, she wondered how they ever endured that first winter: six children, no dormitories and an unfinished hall. Half the winter they huddled in around the fire, the tiny house packed with bodies (including the sheep) in order to keep themselves warm enough to think.
But endure they did, and stubbornly grew, completing more of the school each summer and welcoming a few more students each September. By the time those first six students were preparing for their Leaving Feast they had two complete classrooms, a dining hall that functioned as an auditorium, dormitories for witches and wizards, and a proper kitchen. The road up from the lake was graded smooth and the foundation for 2 more classrooms, another larger hall and a tall tower were laid.
In that year, Godric announced his troth to Fiona Peverell, star of that first graduating class. She was a bright tawny-haired lass who came to study that very first year, and fell in love with her professor. They were to marry as soon as the school year was done.
When this news reached Helga she went promptly to Godric and asked him to stop this cruel joke on the innocent Fiona. But he looked at her with such sickening pity as he took her hands she realized this was no joke. As she stared into those hazel eyes she knew so well, she felt her insides turn to water. Yanking her hands from his, she fled to the hallway and flung open a window, hung over the sill and spilled out her guts.
Rowena found her there and took her home. “There, my darling. I’m here. you come along to bed now, my sweet.” She held her friend as she wept, listened while she cursed, cleaned up after she threw things. Rowena nursed Helga through a fever that lasted five days, and fiercely forbid anyone from entering Helga’s croft.
Fiona Peverell Gryffindor promptly produced a son and two daughters, all ginger haired and hearty, and Godric was never happier.
Helga opened her eyes when the badger climbed up onto her bed, startling her from her memories. “You are a loyal companion, Haegwin, you and all your ken before you.” She smiled and stroked the badger’s thick fur. He pressed into her hand and made a little growl, then snuggled deeper in the down quilt.
Helga smiled kindly at her younger self, so certain that her life was ruined. Having lived through another 149 years brimful with joys and losses, she wished she could hug the lass and tell her she’d be just fine. But for young Helga, her world felt like a smoking ruin.
After Godric’s wedding Helga recovered her composure and returned to work, but deep within, her heart still burned for him. Nevertheless she soon married Eric Greengrass, a kindly farmer.
That was the year young Helena Ravenclaw disappeared. The entire school was in an uproar, searching for her for weeks, then grimly searching for her body. There was no evidence to explain her disappearance. Months dragged on and Rowena grew thin and pale, worn from not sleeping. Then one day an owl arrived from Albania, a message from Helena. “I’ve come here to be free of the gloom” that she said defined her life at Hogwarts. Rowena sent the loyal Baron Malaterra to bring her back, which as we know came to a disastrous end.
When word came back of Helena’s murder Salazar flew into a rage, lashed out at all of his colleagues and stormed off, never to be heard from again. Though he never acknowledged her as his daughter, his drastic behavior and Rowena’s complete heartbreak were confirmation enough.
Helga cared for her dear friend through her terrible grief. How Rowena could be feeling she only guessed from her own aching heart, for Helena had been everyone’s sweet child in those early years. Why didn’t Salazar marry her as soon as she caught with child? It was clear to Helga that they were deeply in love. But of course, Helga had been so sure how her life would go, so there you are. You may plan all you like, but destiny has it’s own ideas.
Helga nursed Rowena through her final illness, treating her with herbs for peace and comfort. When Rowena’s eyes closed for the last time, Helga tenderly smoothed her hair and sang the elemental blessings for her friend.
Sometimes Helga though she saw Helena in the castle. But she told no one, knowing it would add to the list of reasons they all treated her as a daft old witch.
And tonight, over a century later, she longed to see Rowena, to hear her laugh in that sparkling way she had. Helga she still talked to her: “Ach, my darling. I miss you every day. You should see our splendid school, darling. We’ve done it, really made something that will last a thousand summers and enrich the wizarding world. How I wish you could see what you and I began!”
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When Helga’s youngest, Margaret, went to Hogwarts, she resumed teaching full time. She and Godric would spend long evenings together at the school, and it wasn’t long before they fell into a passionate affair. They would find a quiet classroom or climb the Gryffindor tower and he would lay down his cloak and tartan to make a soft place for their lovemaking.
Much to their surprise, for Helga had 75 years, she became pregnant with Geoffrey. Gryffindor was completely gracious and honorable; his three children were all grown, and Fiona kept her chin up and was kind to Helga. She’d known for years that Helga was in love with, and was loved by, her husband. Helga insisted her child have her name.
Geoffrey Hufflepuff may have favoured his father in appearance, but in the magnitude of his heart and sweetness of his temper he was his mother’s child. Young Geoff grew up at Hogwarts, but was restless in the classroom, and so after his 5th year he went forth from the valley to find his way. His mother felt the pain of his leaving more sharply than any of her children before. How she wished he could be her sweet boy forever, curled in her warm hug, helping in the garden, laughing and running on the mountain. But birds must leave the nest and fly, and soar he did.
In Inverness he became a respected farrier and wheelwright, and by his 30th year was elected to apprentice with the Steel Shapers Guild at Sæbø. When he returned he was a master armorer, making fine vessels, cutlery, and weapons rivaling the finest goblin-made goods. He eventually partnered with the Grogthorn the goblin sword master, and it was through that partnership that Geoff began to see himself as an artist, and began work on what would become his masterpiece.
August 3, 1033
Homecoming
Geoff looked up from his anvil one afternoon and watched a dark owl gliding in. He was surprised when the owl sought him, and furrowed his brow as he undid the scroll. As he read it all colour drained from his face, he dropped it in the dust and ran, tearing off his leather apron. “Tell Grogthorn I won’t be back for a fortnight!” he yelled at a co-worker.
As Geoff stumbled out of Appartition to see a great blaze in the school courtyard, he knew he was too late. Gryffindor the elder had been badly injured defending the school from a wild dragon. The flames of his pyre reached high into the night sky, sparks flying, silhouetting the crowd against the glowing towers of the school. Geoff ran into the crowd as if to throw himself on the fire, shouting, “No, no! Father, no!” and strong arms seized him and held him back. He slumped to the ground, head buried in Helga’s robes, and wept. Then his mother gently lifted him up from the floor handing him a linen to dry his eyes.
“There, my darling, come on with me now. Oh, my sweet boy!” She was overwhelmed with emotion as he embraced her and sobbed into her shoulder. When he calmed, she took his hand and led him from the hall, down the road and home to her small stone house. She dosed him with a potion and tucked him into her bed, then spent the night stirring a cauldron of root broth, adding goodness from the garden and magic for health and healing.
By dawn the hearth was cool and Helga asleep in her fireside chair, badger curled at her feet. Geoff awakened to the peace and comfort of home, and rubbing his swollen eyes, came to find her there. He looked down at his mother, so precious, so kind, and felt pangs of regret about being the difficult boy, and felt bad about leaving home. And that’s when his tears rose again, for there was no chance of ever earning his father’s love, not now.
He set to making tea as quietly as he could, but of course she awoke, telling him not to fuss, she would make him breakfast. “No Mum, I will make it for thee. Sit, rest by the fire, for your heart must be as heavy as mine.”
She remembered watching him that morning, a vivid picture of her redheaded son pouring the kettle, and then cracking the eggs into the hot pan. Despite the occasion for his return, this was one of her favorite memories, and she had no need of a Pensieve to replay it as often as she liked.
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Helga was thrilled that Geoffrey soon decided to build a forge and metalworks at Hogsmeade. Soon he returned to London to wrap up his business there. He brought his young wife, Hannah, back with him and before long their young son Eric was taking his first steps in the garden, fistfuls of grass in his chubby hands.
She and Geoff were watching him one day, bees humming, the willow fronds swaying in the warm air. “He’s a picture of my wee brother, I tell you” She smiled at her tall son, squinting in the bright light. She wished her brother Harald could see this boy.
“I have something for you, mother.”
Geoff went up to the house and Helga kept her eyes on the small boy who was now studying a butterfly perched on a blossom. When it flitted off, he grabbed for it and tipped headlong into the grass, and began to wail. Helga scooped him up and kissed his blond head, rocking his stout little body, wracked with sobs.
“Shush now, my little man. Cry yourself through then weep no more, my little butterfly. The air creatures shall always dance on the breeze. You are a child of Earth, I can feel it. You will love the earth and growing things. You have Fire in you, too, the fire we need to keep to our hearts’ true course.”
Geoff was watching her from the pathway, enchanted with his mother’s voice and son’s cherubic face, rapt with attention. Finally he approached them. The boy squealed with delight and waved his limbs. “I’ll take him, Mum. Here, this is for you.” He handed her a long parcel, wrapped in red tartan.
Eric enjoyed the new view from Da’s shoulder, and happily burbled about all the colourful things he saw. No one could understand his speech yet, but nonetheless he had a great deal to say. Geoff stood quietly and watched his mother slowly unwind the wrap. When she revealed the sword she breathed out a gasp of wonder.
Helga was looking at the most beautiful sword she had ever seen: long, sleek, gleaming with mirror like polished steel, it had intricate interwoven patterns in the darkened grip design, and a huge cabochon ruby on each side of the pommel. She studied it for some time before she spoke.
“This was for your father.” Her voice was soft, eyes never leaving the sword. Her finger traced the name of her great love inscribed in runic script on the long fine blade.
“It’s yours, mother. I want you to have it.” His words were carefully spoken, almost hiding the hitch in his breath.
She considered a protest, but dismissed its usefulness. She leaned against his tall frame and just for a moment felt a flare of Godric’s presence beside her. Stubborn man. What a fool he was to leave them all so suddenly.
She carried the sword inside and lifted it onto the mantle above the hearth. “I will treasure it, my son.”
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An owl calling nearby woke Helga a bit later. She felt peaceful, and a bit weightless, hovering in the predawn light.
Soon Duncan would receive her package and its instructions. She had debated for a long while about handing the sword down to Eric’s son, but in the end concluded it should stay with Godric’s family name. Duncan’s new Gryffindor House was an even better solution. That was all finished now. Everything was complete.
As the sun awakened her garden on that late September morn, Helga closed her eyes.